


The Winchester Sisters

by The_Furthest_City_Light



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Help, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know why I wrote this, No Romance, Rule 63, So much angst, genderbent au, i hate this show, no one gets to be happy, they're siblings, why do i keep writing genderbenders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-25 13:31:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14379660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Furthest_City_Light/pseuds/The_Furthest_City_Light
Summary: On November 2, 1983, something that shouldn’t exist destroys four people by killing one.  It uses fire and blood, and its actions have consequences that cascade to the very foundations of the universe for decades to come.But on that night, there are no thoughts of such terrors.  That night, a man grieves for his wife on the trunk of his ‘67 Impala in Lawrence, Kansas.  Flames bathe both his girls’ tiny faces in terrible, flickering light, and they leave only ashes in their wake.





	1. The Fire Lights

On November 2, 1983, something that shouldn’t exist destroys four people by killing one.  It uses fire and blood, and its actions have consequences that cascade to the very foundations of the universe for decades to come.

But on that night, there are no thoughts of such terrors.  That night, a man grieves for his wife on the trunk of his ‘67 Impala in Lawrence, Kansas.  Flames bathe both his girls’ tiny faces in terrible, flickering light, and they leave only ashes in their wake.

* * *

Childhood doesn’t really exist for either girl.  The oldest, Deanna, was given far too much responsibility at far too young an age by a father obsessed with the death of his wife, and obsessed with hunting things he was horrified to realize existed.  Deanna was meant to look after her younger sister, Samantha, from the moment her father shoved her in her tiny, pudgy arms the night of the fire.  No equivocations, no exceptions.  Samantha had to stay alive, and Deanna was expected to do whatever it took to make that happen.  So said her father.

There were days, growing up, where Deanna thought her father couldn’t possibly mean at the expense of _everything_.  Because he loved her too, and…

It didn’t really matter.  Deanna would have looked after Samantha, given everything up for her in a heartbeat, regardless of what her father’s orders were on the matter.

She just wished she could know for certain that her actions were originating from herself, Deanna’s own desires, her own character, rather than an overwhelming sense of duty to her father.  Her father, who left her to raise her sister, who constantly placed more responsibility in her infant hands than she was ready to handle.  Who she couldn’t resent, because how does a child resent the father who acts as if he were the sole vanguard between innocent people and the darkness of the world?  Who saves people, and only asks Deanna to take care of herself and Sammy so he can do it?

She couldn’t resent him.  Not until she was far older and wiser, had literally been to Hell and back, and even then Deanna could only muster the feeling for a few seconds, remember his last words were _save Sammy, or you’ll have to put her down_ , before she’d remember the bastard’s last act was to save his daughter with his soul.

How, exactly, was she supposed to hate him then?

* * *

John Winchester had the uncanny ability to make fast and firm friends with those in the hunter community.  It made sense—most hunters had dark pasts filled with unspeakable tragedies and heinous deeds born of bad and worse choices.  It made them all-around hard people.  John, for all the horror he’d seen in Vietnam and with his wife and on the job, still retained a certain level of charisma that made it easy for him to relate to other hunters.  Unfortunately, John’s ability to make friends was equaled by his tendency to burn those steadfast bridges with just about everyone, eventually.

Bobby Singer was no exception, but it took a good long while.

Bobby was one of the first hunters John met upon getting into the game—it was about a year and a half after Mary’s death, and John was reckless and driven beyond belief.  They both tried hunting the same Wendigo that was picking people off the Gunflint Trail up in Northern Minnesota.  John didn’t really know what he was hunting at the time, and hadn’t quite gotten the right collection of books for easy reference packed away in his trunk.  Mostly, he knew something was killing people, had been for fifty years or more, and so he went up the trail armed with nothing but his sawed-off, salt, a silver knife and a gallon of holy water.

Long story short, Bobby, who’d been at it for half a decade by then, saved his life and then proceeded to berate John for his idiocy without pause for the entire six-hour trek back to the road.

John was an arrogant sumbitch and didn’t take too kindly to that, but he did listen kind of halfheartedly to the other man when he started letting slip information about different creatures.  When they got back to the road—and his beloved Impala—John’s parting words to Bobby were something along the lines of “my kids and I thank you for the save, I hope I never see you again, you miserable bastard,” which, if John had intended to actually never see Bobby again, was the wrong thing to say.

Bobby had a soft spot for kids.

(his wife was three months pregnant when he was forced to kill her.

It was a baby girl.)

So then Bobby, spewing verbal eviscerations all the while, gave John his address and told him to stop by if he wanted to live to see his grandkids.

John mostly thought this was a load of bull, but when he ran into something he didn’t really understand a month later, and he was only a state away from Bobby, he decided to cut his losses and see if the other hunter was serious about offering help.

He brought his girls, and the rest was history.

John and Bobby were fast friends with similarly gruff demeanors and generally didn’t need much in the way of words to communicate.  As for Deanna and Sammy, Bobby loved them instantly, and neither girl was particularly daunted by his rough exterior.  Trips to Bobby’s house meant, for John, research and a couple of beers with a reliable friend.  For his daughters, it meant a week or so of being spoiled by their pseudo-uncle and adventures in the most familiar house and salvage yard they knew.

Other than the Impala, it was the closest thing they had to home.

It was unfortunate that John tended to burn bridges, and do it spectacularly.

The tension between them started when Deanna was seven, and complained to Bobby about how hard hunter training was one afternoon while John was trying to figure out how to kill a pagan god and Sam was taking a nap.

“Daddy’s teaching me how to do hunter stuff!” She told him conspiratorially, like she was making sure her sister couldn’t hear despite Sam being up a flight of stairs and two bedrooms away.

“That so?”  Bobby asked while he checked on the grill.  Steaks were coming along well.  He had some ribs on too, for the girls.  Deanna was in that phase where she hated to see pink in her meat, and Bobby flat-out refused to ruin a perfectly good sirloin like that.

“I’m gonna learn all about ghosts, just like you and Daddy!” She exclaimed excitedly, her legs kicking out from under her and her blonde curls bouncing as she nearly fell off the porch rail with her enthusiasm.  Her shoulders hunched in a little then, and her voice was quiet enough that Bobby wouldn’a heard it if he hadn’t been listening.  “Scary though.”

Bobby thought about how John was military, how much he loved his girls, and how he would probably have given them both self-defense lessons at young ages even in some alternate timeline where his wife was never killed.  He would have made sure his girls could protect themselves, always.

Still, later, when both the girls were asleep and he and John were nursing their third and fourth beer of the evening, respectively, Bobby asked quietly, “Deanna tells me she’s started training.”

John took another swig.  “Yup.”

“Winchester…” Bobby started, “you’re not taking those girls hunting, right?  You’re not letting them get involved in this crap?”

“Do I look stupid to you?” John asked indignantly, and before Bobby could reply with a snarky affirmative, John muttered, “’Course not.  Just want them to be able to defend themselves, is all.”

“Good.”  Bobby rocked back in his chair.  “Just go easy on ‘em.  No reason for the girls to be involved in this sort of thing.”

John leveled him a look that was half-calculating half-challenging.  “You got something to say, Singer?”

Bobby held up a pacifying hand.  “Nothin’.  Just don’t push the girls too far.  Moving around so much is hard enough on ‘em as it is.”

John gave a non-committal shrug.  “I know what’s best for ‘em.  I’ll keep ‘em safe.”

Bobby knew that much.  That wasn’t what he was worried about.

It concerned him, but he left it alone for the time being.  Much as he loved those kids, they weren’t his girls.  He couldn’t tell John how to raise them.  So he gave John a few more muttered warnings about taking it easy on his kids, and they listened to the cicadas sing in the sweet-smelling grass of the surrounding fields.

He would come to regret that decision.

The Winchesters stopped by every three or four months.  They stayed for however long it took to find the research they needed.  Most of the time Bobby could convince John to leave the girls at his place when he went off to deal with the monsters.

Every time, Deanna’s eyes looked older, and Sammy grew confused and eventually angry about why their Daddy kept disappearing for weeks at a time.  Bobby took care of them, and made sure the kids had some kind of stability when they came to his place.  It was obvious though, that the girls only really found any kind of safety in each other.

The look in Deanna’s eyes grew fierce by the time she was ten, and Bobby wondered each and every time what she learned to make a little girl look like that.  He wondered what John put on her to make her look like that.

The answer, apparently, was Sammy.

John never left the two of them alone for more than an hour without telling Deanna to mind her sister.  Around Bobby’s place, that mostly meant making sure she didn’t get lost in the scrapyard or fall down the stairs.  Bobby didn’t know what it meant when John was on a hunt, but he could guess.

When Sammy started school, it was a disaster.  Kid hardly had anything resembling a normal socialization process what with the three of them being constantly on the move, and her only truly stable connection in the world was Deanna.  She loved learning though, so she quickly began to love school and hate moving, which was the beginning of a lot of tension between her and John, if what Deanna told him was anything to go by.  And she didn’t tell him much, just that she wished she could help her sister.  Unfortunately for her, there wasn’t much Deanna could do about it except disagree with their father about his parenting choices, and that was something John made sure his eldest couldn’t do.

“Ya’ll could live here,” Bobby offered when John came to pick the girls up later.  “That way the girls wouldn’t get ripped out of school every other week.”

John trundled his daughters into the car, and slammed the door behind a six-year-old Sam.  “You got a problem with how I raise my girls, Singer?”

Bobby was well past the point of _a_ problem, singular.  “As a matter of fact, yeah.”  Bobby stepped closer.  John had a wider frame but they were about the same height.  “You’re teaching Deanna to hunt, aren’t you.”

John’s lips pursed.  “She asked.  It’s just warding and defense.”  The _for now_ , was unspoken but present.

Bobby sneered, “And what, if she asks to join a band and dance on stage without clothes you’re just gonna _let her?_ ”

John’s face hardened.  “It’s stuff they should know.”

“Yeah, if they’re hunters.”  Bobby’s eyes narrowed further.  “They ain’t gonna be.”

John gave up the staring contest and walked to the drivers’ seat.  “They’ll be safe is what they’ll be.”

John drove off and Bobby kicked his porch.

They didn’t stop by again for over a year.  When John finally did show up, it was with the girls in tow, and he said nothing to Bobby except “I’m going on a hunt.  They can’t come with.”

Bobby would have asked more questions, except just then John turned to his daughters and started giving orders, the last of which wasn’t _look after Sammy_ , like it always was before.  Deanna looked like she was three seconds from flying apart and wanted to keel over and die more than anything.  Sammy looked angry and scared, and clung to her sister like a barnacle.

Then John drove off and left Bobby with his daughters.

Bobby looked down at the girls, and noticed Deanna shaking.  “You want to tell me what happened?” 

Deanna actually did start crying then, which made Sam cry.  Bobby moved to shuffle them both inside, and Sammy flinched.

What.  The.  Hell.

Eventually he did get them inside, and Deanna managed to relate the whole story of the Shtriga while Sammy slept.  Apparently, Sam found out about Hunting over Christmas, and had been a bit jumpy ever since. 

“She’s just scared right now because Dad’s—Dad’s really angry.  And I let her down, and—”  Deanna didn’t continue, and wept silently until Bobby managed to get an arm around her.  Then she gave big heaving sobs into his shirt.

“It’s okay, kid.  You’re only twelve.”  _Your Daddy shoulda gotten the hell out of dodge, soon as he knew it went after kids.  He shoulda let you know you could be targets, if he was going to leave you in charge, the rotten bastard._

“Doesn’t matter,” she gasped, “I let Daddy down.  I let _Sammy_ down.  Because I wanted to go play _basketball_.”  She didn’t seem able to speak after that, and just shook while Bobby rubbed her back and tried to explain that it wasn’t her fault without disparaging John.  Deanna idolized him too much, and it wouldn’t help any.

“You should have seen the way he looked at me, Bobby.”  She whispered later, after she was all cried out.  “He hasn’t _ever_ looked at me like that.  Like I killed someone.”

Bobby put her to bed and looked up the number for social services.  Ellen, up at the Roadhouse, might know somebody who could fake the adoption papers, if necessary.

But he wasn’t sure the girls would actually stay with him.  Wasn’t sure they wouldn’t run right back to their dad the second his back was turned.  If he did this he’d force them to choose, and he wouldn’t win that fight.  It would be better, probably, to try and get John to be a better parent than rip the girls away from their only remaining blood.

He made his decision, regretted it instantly, and downed half a bottle of scotch.

For most of their visit, Deanna comported herself with the kind of stoic determination of a person who well and truly felt she deserved a flogging, and silently did everything asked of her without complaint or comment.  She kept a close and careful watch on Sammy, and barely slept.  Sammy, for her part, pretty much refused to be apart from her sister for more than twenty minutes at a time.  After two days, the youngest Winchester stopped looking at Bobby like he was going to eat her.

John was gone for nearly two weeks.  When he came up the driveway, Deanna’s already drawn expression grew wan and resigned, and Sammy looked angry.

“Finish your breakfasts,” Bobby told them, and scooped another helping of eggs and potatoes on Deanna’s plate.  Sammy kept stealing from it anyway, since Deanna didn’t have the self-respect necessary to tell her off for it.

Bobby met John on the porch, arms crossed.

“Did’ya git it?”  He asked, as close to neutral as possible.

John scowled and spit off his porch.  “It was gone by the time I got back.  Searched everywhere for it, all the surrounding towns too.  It’s moved on.”

Bobby wanted to hit him on principle.  “What’re you gonna tell the girls?”

“That it’s gone.  Sam doesn’t really know what happened, and Deanna needs to know her actions have consequences.”

“That’s just about the last thing that girl needs right now,” Bobby told him, and John gave him that look again, like he was wondering why Bobby felt he had any say in how he raised his children.  “Kid’s been beating herself up worse than anything you could do to her.  Can’t even sleep properly.”

A flash of concern crossed John’s face.  Then it was gone.  “Good.  That can’t happen again.”

Bobby decked him.

John, somehow, wasn’t expecting it and was knocked flat on his ass.  His nose was bloody, and he pinched it tenderly, trying to stem the flow.  Bobby hovered over him, shaking, and tried to refrain from kicking the shit out of him.

“You goddamn bastard.  Kid ain’t no soldier, she’s fucking twelve.  You can’t expect her to act like a fucking adult.  You’re lucky you made it out of this with both kids intact, and it wasn’t _Deanna’s_ fault, it was _yours_ , for not taking the girls straight here when you knew it was going after kids.”

John stood, and Bobby saw him make a fist, so he ended the argument before it could turn into an all-out brawl.  He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t shoot the miserable sumbitch.

“You can be a father who hunts or a hunter who is a father.  You better figure out which one you _ought_ to be before I fucking kill you, John Winchester.”

And then Bobby went back inside his house and gave Deanna an extra piece of sausage.  She shared it with Sammy, and didn’t cry when John came in the house with the blood wiped up and his nose swollen.

They left later that afternoon, and Bobby finished the scotch.

The girls only stayed at Bobby’s two times after that.  There were a lot of reasons—John was an experienced hunter by now, and he needed Bobby’s research less and less, and also the advent of the internet gave faster and more diverse information than Bobby’s library had at his disposal, though it was generally less reliable.  Then there was the whole cell phone thing—they were clunky, but useful, and so John eventually started calling him rather than showing up in person. 

More than anything, Deanna turned thirteen and started going on the hunts with John, rather than staying behind with Sam.  Or so he heard through the grapevine—Ellen was a good contact to have, especially after John got her husband killed.

Bobby never would have thought to describe John Winchester as a coward, but he wasn’t man enough to admit his own mistakes to people who called him a friend.  He never spoke to Ellen again, and Bobby never called John a friend again after their fight.  He helped out whenever John reached out—usually through Deanna, now—but it was with the tacit understanding that Bobby was helping for the girls and John himself could go straight to the depths of hell.

Every time he saw the girls, he noticed things.  One, the two of them were terribly, unhealthily codependent.  Bobby didn’t want to know what they would do if something happened to one of them.  It was probably a result of not having any consistent friends their age to socialize with.  Deanna placed herself like a brick wall between Sammy and the rest of the world, and Sammy seemed to unconsciously track her sister throughout the room.  It would be creepy if Bobby didn’t know the trauma and conditions that caused it.  Considering that, it was just worrying.

As they grew older they seemed to develop opposite responses to their father.  Sammy grew more and more resentful, kept talking about college and how hard it would be to submit transcripts considering the number of high schools she’d been enrolled in, and how patchy her education was.  This set John off and made Deanna uneasy.  Deanna, for her part, barely questioned her father, unless whatever he was saying or ordering would put Sammy in any kind of danger, by her own estimation.  She lived and died by his condemnation or lack thereof, and she kept waiting for praise she never received.  Bobby wondered if she was still waiting for forgiveness for her twelve-year-old self’s brief attempt at childhood.

Bobby told them both they could come by whenever they needed, but from the look in both their eyes, he figured they wouldn’t.  Deanna out of loyalty to John, and Sammy because she wanted nothing to do with hunting at all, much as she might love Bobby.

It broke him, more than a little, and he would never stop wondering what would have happened if he pushed John when Deanna was eight and whispering about how much training hurt.

John burned bridges, sure.  Immolated their foundations with arrogance and wounded pride until the struts were washed away by the river underneath and all that remained was ash in one’s mouth and heart.  But Bobby knew, would never forget, that he was the one who let him.

* * *

Samantha went by Sam from the moment she could speak.  Most everyone called her that, except her older sister, who frequently called her Sammy, especially when she was trying to be irritating.  It was probably a way of returning the favor since Sam had a lisp until six and couldn’t pronounce her name for the longest time and usually just called her Dee.  Other people shortened it to Anna, but Sam never did.

Dee tried to give Sam a childhood, but the younger girl was always precocious and frankly too observant for her own good.  One Christmas when Sam was eight she figured it out and made Dee tell her about their dad’s real job.

Dee saw John Winchester as a hero, as an indominable wall between them and the darkness of the world.  Sam had always seen him as something a bit more disappointing—a man who never came home for Christmas, who didn’t really care that Sam got the highest score in the class on her math tests, and who never spared a kind word or mercy to her older sister.  Dee got the amulet instead.

From that point on, Samantha’s childhood was pretty much gone.  John never tried to shield Deanna from the realities of the world, and started training her in hand-to-hand and self-defense at the ripe age of seven.  Sam got the luxury of waiting until she was eight to start her combat training.

Deanna was always too grateful for words that Sammy was only ever forced to spar against _her_ in the beginning, and not their father.  John didn’t show much mercy on his daughters in a fight.  He justified it by saying no one else would show them mercy, and he wasn’t about to let his girls learn bad habits just because their old man went soft on them.  Deanna accepted this and fought like hell to make their dad proud.  Sam did not accept it, still fought like hell, and slowly but surely began to hate their father’s determination to make them soldiers and not people.

It was only several decades later, long after their father died and used his own soul to hold the demon that destroyed their lives at bay, that Deanna started to think there was a difference between preparation and abuse.

Neither of them ever managed to truly hate their father though, deserved as it might be.

* * *

The Winchester family knew from Deanna’s third birthday that she was going to look very much like Mary when she grew up.  This turned out to be an accurate prediction, which made it hard for John Winchester to look at her.

Deanna understood this, she really did.  So she did her best to make sure that when John looked at her it was without pain and without recrimination.  She followed her father without question.  He’d always kept them and everyone else safe, after all, even when Deanna fucked up and nearly let a monster kill her sister.  And if he felt anything for them like the near-crippling sense of responsibility she felt toward Sammy, well.  Deanna wasn’t worried.  And she knew he _did_ feel it, because she learned it all from him.

Still, it was hard when she hit twelve and her father started looking at her like he was seeing someone else.  And soon enough it was hard to look in the mirror.  Not because she looked so much like her mother, but because she usually didn’t like what she saw.  She wasn’t sure _what_ she saw, really.

She knew what other people saw.  Mostly because men, boys, and monsters alike were completely shameless about telling her.  When her boobs and hips grew in at thirteen Deanna suddenly started getting terrifying comments from the things she and Dad hunted.  At least, from the things that were still human enough to feel things like desire.  She mostly tried not to think about that though.

She got used to the comments, eventually.  Enough that she didn’t have a retroactive panic attack afterword, then enough to trade snarky barbs, to give as good as she got.

Never quite enough to simply ignore it and not care though.  Never enough to just behead the fucker and feel nothing.

Most infuriating was the fellow hunters that met and dismissed her as a blonde bombshell with nothing between the ears.  Those occasions were equally frustrating because even though Deanna never felt much need to correct them, her father _did_ , and so those were some of the only times Deanna heard unrestrained praise from her father about her abilities and character.

“Really, Winchester?  You’re letting your _daughters_ hunt monsters with you?”

“Deanna can kick your ass seven ways to Sunday, and I’d rather have Sam backing me up than any of you clowns.”

It didn’t help that in another lifetime, she probably would have looked something like a princess.  Deanna had long, curly blonde hair, large green eyes, and a kick-ass figure.  She favored fitted denim shorts, combat boots and leather jackets all through high school.  On hunts she traded the shorts for jeans.  She was charismatic and loud, and drew a lot of attention from people.  She turned heads.

Deanna’s first experience regarding sex was not a good one.

She was fifteen, and making out with Andrew Jacoby under the bleachers of her school of the month.  Then he decided he wanted to do more than grope at her breasts, and kept going even when she said no.

Deanna froze for a solid fifteen seconds, completely unused to fighting off _humans_ , and especially not a boy making his own decisions, who wasn’t entirely compelled by death or the supernatural.  In that time, he managed to drag her shorts and panties down, use her open jacket and tank top to pin her arms overhead, and unzip his fly.  His hand clapped over her mouth, cutting his palm on her teeth as she started to struggle and sobbed.

Then he got real close to her face, using every inch of his body to constrain her, and whispered in her ear, “ _don’t scream_.”

Deanna flipped her shit.

More importantly, she flipped _him_.  John taught his daughters every and all methods of escape he knew how to teach, and the girls were quick studies.  The result was one high school senior concussed with three broken ribs and duct-taped to the struts under the bleachers.  They didn’t find him until the next morning.

Deanna didn’t tell her father, and certainly didn’t tell Sammy.  She crawled home still tasting his blood on her tongue and washed away the dirt in their motel shower.  She couldn’t quite get the feel of his hands to go away though, not even when she turned the water up hot enough to burn, and when it ran out the ice water didn’t keep her from remembering how he squeezed her breasts, stuck his fingers between her legs.  Sam yelled at her when she came out and there was no warm water left.

For whatever reason, Andrew Jacoby never talked about what happened, never filed charges.  It wouldn’t have mattered, at any rate—the Winchesters were gone inside a week.

Three weeks after that, Deanna lops off all her curls and gives herself a pixie cut, so short she could pass for a boy if it weren’t for her breast size.  Sammy is shocked and asks her why, pestering her older sister until Deanna finally tells her she just felt like it and was thinking about going goth.  Sammy doesn’t look like she buys it, but after a week or so she stops asking, and after a month she stops giving Deanna suspicious looks.

John takes one look at it, grunts about how she should have done it a long time ago if she was gonna hunt, and doesn’t bring it up again.

Deanna regrets it almost immediately because every time she sees herself in the mirror with her shorn hair she thinks of it, thinks of his hands and how he tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled too hard, how he left fingerprints on her chest.  Cutting her hair seems like a horrible brand, a reminder, and she grows it out as quickly as possible, until it’s long again and she feels unaffected as she ever will. 

Unconsciously, maybe, she wears less and less clothing, dressing in ways that instantly get her labeled things like “whore” and “slut” everywhere she goes.  Deanna doesn’t give a shit, and just thinks _try it mother fuckers_.

It was a while before Deanna _decided_ to have sex.  She was seventeen and it was with a guy who could barely lift his textbooks.  But he was sweet, and let her control the whole affair, which was good because frankly he was too excited for any other arrangement.  Neither of them knew what they were doing so it was kind of unpleasant and painfully awkward, but she tried it again with a different guy three states away a month later and _wow_.

After that, she discovered she liked sex.  Even rough sex.  Or maybe especially rough sex.  It was best when everyone involved didn’t make any bones about emotions or sentiment.  It was cleaner that way, and Deanna knew exactly what was expected of her and what wasn’t, and returned the favor.   It was nice, too, to know exactly what the other party saw when they looked at her. 

It didn’t really help her win any of the staring contests with her mirror, but that wasn’t something that was about to change.

* * *

Sam grew up constantly in the shadow of her older sister.  In most ways, she didn’t really resent that—in addition to the attention, Dee also earned most of their father’s recrimination, and Sam didn’t envy her that.  Besides, her older sister was the best, coolest person on the planet, and there was literally nothing anyone could say to the contrary.  Dee once kicked a werewolf in the balls just because he made a disparaging comment about Sam’s breast size.  Dee was smart and impossible to intimidate and took no shit from anyone.

She was also gorgeous, which made Sam’s life a little difficult where romance was involved.

It wasn’t really her sister’s fault.  Dee was extremely outgoing and gregarious.  She made friends wherever she went, and people just _liked_ her and responded to her in ways they never did for Sam.  She also seemed to be pretty content with having a lot of shallow friendships, and few real connections.  The younger sibling was quiet, more reserved, and the constant moving made it much more difficult for her to make friends.  It didn’t help that Sam craved deeper relationships with people than could be made in the two or three months max they spent in any given location.

John, who shared Dee’s weird ability to make friends anywhere, really didn’t seem to understand this and gave her blank, bewildered, _infuriating_ stares whenever Sam brought it up.

Sam thought, privately, that she must have gotten her personality from her mother, and that Mary would have understood.  But that was a thought she would never voice, especially not to her Dad and not even to Dee.  They wouldn’t get it.  They might even say something like that one time, when Dad threw a half-full whisky bottle at the wall and screamed that she was disrespecting her mother’s memory.

In any case, the whole situation made it incredibly difficult for Sam to have any kind of romantic relationship with anyone, especially when prospective suitors caught sight of Dee.

It wasn’t that Sam had a terrible personality or wasn’t pretty—she was just frequently outshone by her vivacious sister.  Sam was tall for a girl and skinny, with the athletic build of an Olympic sprinter.  She had fine, delicate features and depending on her mood, she had a sense of innocence or steel about her that certain types found intriguing or attractive.  She had dark hair she mostly tied into a messy bun behind her head and wide, hazel doe eyes.  She liked dark-wash jeans, flannel, and hoodies, but tended to wear all of them a size too large.

It was just—hard to relate to people.  Normal people, especially.  They didn’t know what was out there, didn’t know to break someone’s elbow with two pounds of pressure, and they never memorized exorcisms so thoroughly that even when her dad woke her in the middle of the night she could scream it in her sleep.  Even outside of that, she was also drawn to things most people her age tended not to think about too deeply—philosophy, God, justice.  She read books like _The Brothers Karamazov_ and _The Epic of Gilgamesh_ for fun, and in the original manuscripts if it was a Latin text.  Her favorite book was a tie between _The Great Gatsby_ and _Beowulf_.  She generally didn’t care for politics, but she had opinions on nearly every topic under the sun, be it determinism or colonial institutional legacies or corporate farming practices.  Finding fellow children she could talk to and not confuse or be bored by was difficult. 

(Weirdly, Pastor Jim was her most constant and relatable friend growing up, besides Dee.  He was a surprisingly open-minded man, willing to entertain for discussion all manner of topics which probably should have been considered blasphemous.  There was nothing Sam couldn’t ask him about, nothing he wouldn’t give his opinion on.  He was well-educated and highly intelligent, and when Sam finally asked him how it was God could allow His creations to speak against Him or live in opposition to Him, Pastor Jim just smiled and told her, “the origin of faith is free will, and freedom to live as one will.  How else could righteous intent exist?  How else could it be enacted?”

Dee just rolled her eyes, and said God couldn’t be good if he existed at all.  Sam made a non-committal sound but she started praying after that, and did so every day until she dragged Lucifer, Adam and Michael into the Pit with her own damned soul.)

Regardless of her introversion and bookish nature, Sam did eventually have a relationship with someone who had a thing for history and enjoyed hypothetical discussions about the consequences of AI technology.  She almost had sex with him, but just as she was unclipping her bra he asked if Dee would be up for a threesome.  Sam threw him out, cried, and swore off boys for good but then lost her virginity in her second semester of college to a guy she met at a frat party.  He was experienced and sweet to her, and her first full experience with sex was both satisfying and pleasant.

* * *

Deanna saw Sammy’s leaving long before it happened, but chose to ignore it.  She never brought it up with their father, figuring he would have seen too.  If the increased tension and Sammy’s taking the SATs wasn’t enough, then the running away and lack of interest in hunting surely was.

Deanna did not expect Sammy to slap a Stanford acceptance letter on the table during dinner and declare she was going, whether Dad liked it or not.

This led to one of the worst nights of Deanna’s life.  She tried to mediate, reason with them both, but her remaining family members were too far gone and screamed things that should never have been spoken or even thought.  Things like how Sam never appreciated all the sacrifices Dad made for her, how he’d protected her and she’d never cared to return that with her loyalty.  How Mom never would have died if she hadn’t been in Sam’s nursery that night.  Things like how Dad had tried to forget Mom and how he’d never let Sam learn about her, and how Mom never would have wanted Dad to turn her kids into warriors and martyrs.

Dad was worried, and he always expressed that as anger and tried to intimidate his youngest into compliance.  Sam was a stubborn little shit tired of being told what to do, and tired of being asked to throw away her future, and watch her sister do the same.  But she was her father’s daughter, and so that too expressed itself as anger.

The fight ended when Deanna got between them and John took a swing at her.  It was mostly accidental, the action intending to shove her out of the way more than anything, and Deanna took worse hits when they sparred.  It was still hard enough to leave a bruise though, and that was the absolute last straw for Sam, because this was Dee, her _sistermotherbestfriend_ , and her _fatherdrillseargentwarden_.  So she stepped around her sister and fractured John Winchester’s jaw.

He grunted, staggered back, and Dee gasped, and gave an urgent whisper of “ _Sam_ ,” that was barely audible, but neither of them moved any further, just stared in horror.

“First rule of fighting,” Sam Winchester whispered to the dead silent room.  “Hit like you mean it.”

John Winchester had a lot of flaws.  One was that he couldn’t stand a challenge to his authority.  So even though he’d been crafting an apology without words for his eldest before his youngest attacked in retaliation, he couldn’t respond to Sam with anything less than abject fury.

“You go out that door, and you better not come back,” he grunted through his shattered jaw.

Deanna finally snapped into action when Sam turned on her heel, grabbed her thrift-store bomber jacket off the hook, and left.

It was one of the few times in her life she truly questioned her father.  Where she frankly evaluated all of his choices and found the results wanting.  Since before she could remember, her father was the overriding force in her life, in Sam’s life, in every decision they made.  She always trusted him to know best, even when Sammy voiced her own barely-acknowledged doubts, and hadn’t disobeyed one of his orders since she was twelve and nearly killed her sister.

Today, she looked him in the eye, horrified and angry, and for once in her life doesn’t buy the idea of John Winchester as the knower of all things right and true, and whispers in horror, “What have you _done?_ ”

John didn’t answer, and despite her fury, she was forced to take him to the ER.  By the time she got back to the motel, Sam and all her meagre belongings were long gone.  Deanna hunted her down, but Sam refused to come back and just gave Dee the number for her new cell phone.  Dee stayed with her every day for a week, until John called her and told her they were heading out.  She replied with a heavy _yessir_ , and didn’t look at Sam’s face.  Too much disappointment and betrayal and accusation there.

For the first month, Deanna called her sister every day.  She didn’t pick up unless Deanna left a message threatening to visit if she didn’t answer the goddamn phone, which usually made Sam at least say “yeah, I’m fine, Dee.  I’m glad you’re alive,” before hanging up again.

Eventually that petered out to every other day, and then once a week, until it was too irregular to really give a pattern.  Deanna called for the big events though—Sam’s graduation, her first day of class, finals week, etcetera.  She teased her sister for being a nerd, and she could usually get Sam to expound on whatever she was learning—from neuro-anatomy to her issues with Kant and Nietzsche—for around twenty minutes before Sam decided it was time to go.

Sam never called her.  And other than checking to make sure Deanna was whole and healthy, she never asked about what she was up to.  She sent a birthday card and a Christmas present every year, but that was it.  Deanna didn’t dare mention their father, for fear Sam would stop talking to her entirely.

For the first few months her father radiated fury which he took out on Deanna in increasingly vicious verbal attacks until she had enough and suggested they hunt separately.  John responded with a rare and unwelcome bought of chauvinism and claimed that _no girl of his would be out on her own_.

This was probably born from his worry for Sam, who was all by herself in a world of strangers.  Deanna knew that.  But it sounded like something else, and it pissed her off so much she pinned her dad on the gravel next to the car and growled _I can handle myself just fine_.

John could have broken the hold if he were willing to break one of her fingers, but he wasn’t so instead he gave her the keys to his beloved Impala and told her to _take care of it or else_ , and that they’d meet up in a couple of weeks, so long as she checked in every day.

So Deanna hunted on her own, sleeping with every attractive and willing guy she felt like and drove cross country twice a month to kill things that wanted to kill people.  She did it for years.  It was miserable, exhausting, and lonely, and it was the freest she’d ever been or ever would be.


	2. Fire Lights Twice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dad's on a hunting trip. Hasn't been back in a few days."

Sam woke up late one evening in November, just when her hard-won life was finally coming together. Jack's arm was wrapped tightly around her waist, a ring was on her finger, and she had an interview for one of the best law schools in the country on Monday. If she got in she was set for life.

She hadn't been in a real fight for over four years, but old habits died hard so when she heard someone bump a table in their kitchen she was instantly awake and alert, fingers grasping for a gun filled with rock salt under her empty pillow.

Jack was a heavy sleeper on the best of nights, and she knew for a fact that he'd had enough to drink that he would be out like a light for the next few hours at least. Crawling out of bed was both disturbingly and comfortingly easy. Disturbing because some part of her would always be aware of what was out there, and how easily a life could fall apart, and worry over Jack's lack of awareness. Comforting because she was trying to leave that fear behind and Jess was so far removed from it he didn't wake when something banged in the kitchen or his fiancé crawled out of bed.

Sam grabbed a bat just to be safe, because she was admittedly a bit out of practice and despite being tall for a girl, leverage was never bad.

She was not expecting the intruder to be as good as she was, and she wasn't expecting to lose the upper hand so quickly.

"Chill, princess." Long blonde curls tickled Sam's face.

"Dee?" She asked, shocked. She ignored the guilt that swept her upon seeing her sister.

"You're out of practice," Dee told her, disproving. Sam raised an eyebrow and flipped her sister, just barely managing to make sure Dee didn't clip the corner of the table with her head.

"Okay, so maybe not as much as I thought," she conceded. Sam rolled her eyes and helped her up.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked, and was proud when she managed to keep the accusation out of her voice. She didn't want to make Dee think she was mad at her, but she was a bit confused. "And why did you break in? You could have just called—"

The light flicked on, and Jack stood shirtless in the doorway, in all his 6'2" glory.

"Sam? What's going on?" They must have been louder than Sam thought, if they actually managed to wake him up.

"And  _who_  are  _you_?" Dee asked, eyes just short of leering as she took in his chest and biceps. Sam felt old defensiveness rise, and then scolded herself. Jack was a good man, and she knew he loved her. He wasn't using her because he wanted to bang her sister. And she was pretty sure Dee wouldn't sleep with her fiancé.

Didn't mean Dee wouldn't  _look_ , of course, but Sam couldn't really blame her. Jack had great eyes. And hair. And abs. He was just extremely good looking in general.

"I think I should be asking you that," Jack said slowly, clearly not sure what to make of this situation, and looked at Sam for answers.

"Ah, Jack, this is my sister. Deanna." She coughed, "Dee, this is my boy—uh, fiancé, Jack."

Deanna's eyes widened with something Sam recognized as hurt. Sam tried not to feel too guilty. It only happened a few days ago, after all. "Fiancé?"

"Wait,  _this_  is Dee?  _The_  Dee?" Jack sounded excited, and Sam felt even guiltier. She knew Jack wanted her to share more about her family and her past. She mostly told him that her dad was ex-military and they moved around a lot, and that they had a falling out. Jack's dad was also a Vietnam vet, and they bonded over that. She did tell stories about Dee though, since she honestly missed her sister and those were about the only memories anyone who wasn't a hunter could genuinely find happy. She supposed she shouldn't be too surprised that he was excited to meet her.

"Only I call her Dee," she said absently. Then she realized that sounded defensive and rude and gave an awkward cough before trying again. "Uh, yeah. Yeah it is."

Dee stepped forward, megawatt grin on her face. "Damn girl, you're hitting above your weight here, definitely." Jack raised an eyebrow. Sam resisted the urge to smack her forehead. Dee was…irrepressible, sometimes. Especially when she felt hurt. "I gotta tell you, I love the smurfs," she whispered conspiratorially. Jack glanced down at his smurf-patterned sweatpants and shrugged.

"They were a gift," he told her.

Deciding to try and control this…whatever this was…again, she tried to get her sister's attention while Jack walked over to her. "Anyway, Dee, why are you here all of the sudden? And why didn't you knock instead of picking the lock?"

Jack blinked. "She picked the lock?"

"No, I used the window, because I figured you guys would be smart enough to have a deadbolt." Dee said dismissively. Sam made a very stern face which should have told her to stop what she was doing, really, before she said something Sam couldn't recover from. "Really Sammy, just because you live on the third floor doesn't mean you should be careless about security. Those latches are way too easy to open from the outside." A pause. "And you really should have a deadbolt. What would Dad say?"

"Through the window?" Jack repeated, like he was trying to wrap his head around it. Sam just hoped she could come up with an explanation for this that made actual sense later.

"But Sammy, there's some stuff we gotta discuss. Like, now." She looked at Jack meaningfully, and crossed her arms. She was wearing a fitted leather jacket, and Sam noticed Dee was wearing jeans instead of shorts, which invariably meant she was anticipating a fight. "About Dad. And his most recent hunting trip."

Ice trailed down Sam's spine, and she looked to her fiancé, who was frowning at Dee's cryptic phrasing. "Jack, could you give us a minute?"

Jack gave her a look that said she would be  _explaining_  later, but he squeezed her hand, kissed her temple and walked to the bedroom.

Dee watched him leave and pointedly raised her eyebrows as her eyes trailed his ass. "Seriously, way above your weight class. I'm impressed, little sister."

"Dee," Sam told her sternly, trying to get her sister to focus. "Why are you here?"

Dee frowned, and started staring at the calendar by the door. "Dad's missing. He left on a hunt a few days ago, and now I can't get ahold of him. I need your help to find him." She smirked. "You're in a yoga class? Really? Do sun salutations make you feel at peace?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "That's not my class, that's Jack's. And yes, he finds yoga centering." She got back to the point. "Dad's probably fine, just taking longer than usual. Especially if he's only been missing a few days."

"If downward dog makes boys look like  _that_  then I may have to reconsider my stance on the subject. So you're the one in the self-defense classes? Why?" Sam decided against telling her that Jack was also in Crew, because she liked Tai Chi. Dee straightened, and then fingered her sleeve, where Sam knew she was hiding a silver knife. "Sam, come on. He's never out of communication like this. And, I don't know. I just have a feeling. A really bad feeling."

Sam frowned now, feeling the first stirrings of unease. Dee wasn't wrong, it was weird for their father to go to ground like this. He always left them some means of communication. Or he left them for Dee now, she supposed. And Dee didn't get nervous like this about just anything.

"I  _teach_  the self-defense classes," she clarified. "So why do you need my help? I'm out of the game, remember?"

Dee rolled her eyes, and sashayed over to the cabinets, observing their contents. It was mostly cheap dinnerware and peanut butter. Stanford gave her a stipend but it was by no means a large one. "I bet all the boys love taking lessons from you," Dee said knowingly. "And you're never  _really_  out of the life, Sammy. You know that. Plus, rusty backup is better than none, right?"

Sam hesitated. "It's mostly girls, actually." A lot of sexual assault victims and girls trying to self-treat anger management issues. Helping them made Sam feel good, and it kept her training from atrophying completely. "There has to be someone else you can call."

Dee gave her a sidelong look that told her she was being childish. "There's not."

Sam tensed, defensive. There was a possibility that Dee was simply fed up with her and Dad's feud and this was a ploy to get them talking again. "I can't just drop everything, Dee. I have a life here."

Dee glanced at the calendar, so quick Sam might have missed it if she didn't still know her sister better than anyone else alive. "I can see that. But I still need your help."

Despite herself, Sam couldn't help the tendrils of worry that roiled toxic in her belly. It was her father, and the last things she said to him were terrible. Not untrue, but just, maybe, a little bit undeserved.

She always assumed he would eventually apologize to her, then she could return the favor, and they could make up at some point in the future. When he gave up hunting and let Dee and Sam live their own lives, or at least did that last part. Despite her many reservations about his ability to parent, he'd always seemed invulnerable to Sam, inhumanely good at his job and keeping them all alive. It hadn't really occurred to her that he might die before they could make things right.

And she really wasn't prepared to let Dee go on chasing the thing that might finally be his match alone. No way in heaven or hell.

"I have to be back by Monday," she warned.

Dee raised an eyebrow. "What's on Monday? You guys eloping?"

Okay, so she was still smarting from that. Great. "No. I just…have to be back."

Dee scowled. "Fine, don't tell me." Sam crossed her arms defensively, and stared her sister down. Dee rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, I'll have you back by Monday, cross my heart."

Sam sighed, decided not to push the issue and felt old weariness settle over her. "Just, give me a minute to change," she told her sister. Dee gave a vague shooing gesture and started rooting through her fridge.

Back in the bedroom, Jack was pacing. He looked up, concern and confusion warring in his eyes. Sensing something was up, he immediately straightened. "What's wrong," he demanded. "What does your sister want? Is she staying?"

Sam sighed, struggling to find a good answer for him. "I'm going away for the week." She tried to sound casual, confident and sort of chipper, but it just came out tired and resigned.

He frowned, and she could see how hard he was trying to hold his questions back. "What? Why?"

"Dee's worried about Dad. Thinks he's in trouble and wants me to help bail him out."

Jack's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Wait, your Dad? The Dad you never talk about, Dad? The one who kicked you out of the house for wanting to go to college Dad?"

Sam grimaced, because she'd never said as much to anyone about the whole thing, but she sometimes forgot how well Jack could read her. Psych majors. Really should have stayed away in retrospect. She probably didn't want to know what he knew about her from basic observation. "Yes, that Dad." At his worried look, she elaborated. "It's probably nothing. Dee's just worried, and I agreed to help."

"But…what about Law school? You're interview's on Monday." He made a weird little helpless gesture. "And if your Dad's in trouble, shouldn't you call the police?"

"Dee promised I'd be back before the interview. And it's not that kind of trouble. Dee thinks he might be on a bender, but he's not picking up, so she's worried."

Something lit in Jack's blue eyes and Sam felt like kicking herself. Damn. He'd been dropping hints that he suspected her dad was an alcoholic for almost a year and a half now. She hadn't meant to confirm it. All told, it was really the least of their issues, and frankly it wasn't even something Sam had much of an issue  _with_. Not compared to the other stuff. He wasn't an angry or violent drunk. He just got kind of melancholy and went to sleep a bit faster. Usually helped with the nightmares too.

"So file a missing person's report," he told her insistently, golden eyebrows furrowed.

She smiled, and laid a hand on his arm. "It's fine. Dee and I are pretty good at finding people. Especially Dad." Actually, this was the first time they had to  _hunt_  for Dad, but whatever. Couldn't be that difficult, and it wasn't like Dad was actively hiding from them.

He took her hands in his. "I just…I know how hard you've worked to get where you are, and how much you want this. I don't want you to let your family drag you back under. Not when you've worked this hard to escape them."

She frowned. "I was never trying to escape  _Dee_." Not really. It was just…hard to talk to her sister when everything she said or did reminded her of what she didn't want to be, and how messed up her relationship with their father was. "I wasn't even trying to escape Dad really. Just…make my own decisions."

He swiped a thumb over the back of her hand. "It kind of seems like those are mutually exclusive," he murmured, not unkindly.

It didn't have to be, if her father would just acknowledge that she was an adult with as much right to make her own decisions about her life as he had to make about his own.

But she didn't feel like explaining that. Not when she had a no doubt endless road trip with Dee in her near future. "I'll be back by Monday," she told him firmly.

Jack gave her a long look, and then nodded. He lifted her left hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. "Do you want me to come with?"

Sam resisted the urge to snort at the thought of Jack on a hunt. She loved him, but the guy could stab himself with a butter knife. "Nah, I think we're long overdue for some sisterly bonding time."

He nodded, and his expression turned to something a bit more bewildered. "She is…not what I expected."

Sam raised an eyebrow and smirked, amused. "What, you thought you'd have a better first impression where she didn't bust in via window?" She grabbed her go-bag and started throwing extra clothes inside. She swiped a bra off the nearby nightstand to slide under her t-shirt.

"From the way you described her I thought she'd be a little less…wild."

Sam shrugged and shimmied into some old jeans. "It's been a while since I've seen her." Dee really didn't seem all that different to her though. Not in the ways that mattered. Hair was a bit longer and her leather jacket more worn, but that was about it.

There was a bang in the kitchen. Jack turned toward the noise and gave the door a bemused expression. "Should we be worried she's making off with the toaster?"

Sam snorted. "What use would she have for a toaster? Her diet consists solely of cheeseburgers and milkshakes."

"I'm just saying, your sister is basically a cat burglar. We should lock away the fine china and silver."

"As if. We're millennial college students. If she wanted silver she'd have to break into the Mulligans upstairs."

"I bet they have a deadbolt."

"My sister, master cat burglar, thwarted by a deadbolt. What is the world coming to?"

* * *

Deanna tried to keep her focus on the road in front of her, but it was kind of hard when she had her baby sister right next to her for the first time in nearly four years.

Sammy looked good. She was obviously still keeping in shape, but she looked like she was eating a bit healthier than the normal fare they ate growing up. Her hair was a bit longer, and shinier. She'd finally started wearing a little make-up. She looked more confident too, and Deanna couldn't help but wonder if it was because being out from under her and Dad forced her to flourish socially.

The thought made her feel guilty. Sammy always struggled so much to connect to people. Maybe having Deanna to back her up all the time caused more harm than good.

She'd obviously managed to overcome her awkwardness enough to impress Mr. Ken Doll. Enough to get the two of them  _engaged_.

The ring catching light on Sam's left hand was simple, but pretty. It was a silver band with a single solitaire set into it. Not huge, either, which probably meant the Ken Doll saved up for it himself. That was impressive, considering he was in college and wasn't a trust fund baby if their apartment was anything to go by. Probably meant he cared a lot about her sister.

"So," Deanna started, trying to break the silence. There was a part of her that was relieved that the silence wasn't awkward even after all that time apart. "When's the wedding? Am I invited?"

"Of course you're invited!" Sam protested, and Deanna was a little surprised at how outraged she sounded. Huh. "We don't have a date yet. He only proposed last week."

Oh. So maybe she hadn't been hiding that? "You were gonna tell me then?" She pressed.

Sam squished into the corner where the frame met the seat, like she did when she was feeling particularly petulant and or defensive. "Next time you called."

Deanna nodded, a bit relieved. "You know," she started casually. " _You_  could call  _me_  sometimes."

Sam's lower lip jutted out a little and yes, that was an honest to God pout. "I have!"

"Other than last Christmas, when I was on a hunt and didn't manage to call you before dinnertime."

"…"

"That's what I thought."

And now it was awkward. Great job Deanna. Always so good with the fixing.

"Look, Dee," Sam started awkwardly, looking kind of vulnerable and unsure of herself. She only did that around Deanna, where she could be sure it wouldn't get thrown back in her face. Some part of Deanna registered that and felt immediately warmed by the continued show of faith. Another part, something forged in the fires of their mother's remains and their father's orders and Deanna's own love, sat up and took protective possession of her little sister's vulnerability. "I wasn't avoiding you. I just…it was hard. To hear about Dad and know he wanted nothing to do with me. And he still doesn't. And I was trying to leave the life behind."

Deanna nodded, because she'd guessed as much. But still. "You and Dad are as stubborn as each other, you know?"

Sam nodded wearily. "I know. But I'm right this time."

Deanna sighed, and even though her sister probably  _was_  right—the proof was staring her in the face—she couldn't help but be exhausted by the whole thing. "You know that Dad says the same thing, right?"

"Well, he's wrong."

"You know he'd say the same, right?"

" _Dee_."

"My point is, one of you eventually has to admit wrongdoing. Or at least apologize for this whole mess. It's either that or you never talk again." She gave the ring a pointed look. "Don't you want him to walk you down the aisle?"

"Not really. It's an archaic tradition symbolizing the transfer of females as property from her father to her new husband. I was planning on walking down alone regardless."

"Well what about…what's it called…the father-daughter dance?"

"Dee. When have you seen either of us dancing. Much less in public."

Okay, she had a point. "Well, don't you want him to  _be there_  at least?"

Sam picked at her nail polish. "…maybe. If he  _wanted_  to be there, I guess it wouldn't be so bad."

Which was Sammy-speak for 'yes, definitely.' Should Dee tell her about Dad's visits? Because this seemed like a good time to bring it up. Except she thought maybe Dad should tell Sam himself. Might be more meaningful that way. " _Of course_  he'd want to be there."

Sam snorted. "Yeah right. He hasn't spoken to me without screaming in almost a decade. I'm pretty sure he's just about written me off."

Dee frowned. Okay, she should tell Sammy. Too bad Dad, you could have picked up the phone or knocked on the door sometime in the last four years. "He visited you."

Sam's head whipped around. "What?" She whispered it breathily, as if she wasn't sure if she should believe it.

"Every couple months. Anytime we were west of Denver he'd make a pit stop to check on you."

Sam was very pale, and turned slowly to face the road disappearing under Baby's headlights. "Oh."

"So pick up the phone and call him, for God's sake. It's about time you two stopped having a dick measuring contest."

There was silence from the other side of the car, but Deanna could tell her little sister was thinking about it, which was more progress than she'd made in the last four years.

Maybe she shouldn't have stayed away so long. She'd been trying to give Sammy space, and to let her come back in her own time, but clearly she'd underestimated her little sister's stubbornness, somehow. Deanna should have known better. Sammy rarely changed her mind once she made it up, and usually the best way to alter it was to point out the flaws in her logic—or in this case, provide new evidence. It required the head-on approach. She wasn't like Deanna, who would eventually return to familiar orbits regardless of outside influence. It was why she'd probably never leave the life. She didn't know any different.

A bug drove by and Sammy was too distracted to noticed.

Deanna gave her a light—for them—punch to her sister's left bicep. "Yellow one!"

"Ow!" Sammy screeched, and Deanna grinned. "Dee!"

"What?" she asked innocently, "Don't tell me you forgot our record? 106 to 247." She thought for a second. "248 now."

"You didn't have to hit me that hard!"

Deanna leveled her an unimpressed look. "You've been spending too much time with the civvies. That was just a love tap darlin'."

Sam glowered. "You're such a…you're such a jerk!"

"Bitch."

All was right with the world.

* * *

Outside a cheap gas station, Sam dialed her fiancé. They'd exchanged a few texts, but it had been almost two days since they last spoke.

He picked up on the third ring. " _Sam? Hey sweetie, how are you?_ "

It was good to hear his voice.

It was also a little surreal.

She'd forgotten how intense hunting was. How it blocked everything else out. That was, of course, why she'd wanted to leave it in the first place, but she'd somehow forgotten why it was so hard to drop the life.

Seeing people torn apart the way spirits usually did it was hard. It was harder to know that no one but her and her sister had any chance of stopping it. It was harder still to know that she'd never be able to forget the evil once she saw it.

Some part of her would always be drawn to the life. For all its hardships, the reward was…hard to ignore. And it was challenging in a way few things were. In some ways, the rewards scared her more than the trials.

Mostly this whole life sucked. But there were a few bright spots. And like addicts, most hunters never really managed to leave. Especially hunters like the Winchesters, who couldn't shake the sense of responsibility the knowledge of the supernatural gave them.

Hearing Jack's voice was like a lighthouse in a stormy harbor. Reminded her that solid land existed beyond the sea.

"I'm good. How was class?"

He spoke a little about the stuff they learned in his Neuro lab. Psychology really was a fascinating field and Sam was a glutton for knowledge of any kind. That was one of the traits they shared, actually. Jack was especially fascinated by brain anatomy and how it all functioned.

The brief recap wound down quickly though, and Sam got the feeling her fiancé was mostly just following her lead on what she needed. She tended to focus on other people when feeling stressed. It was easier than dealing with her own issues.

Jack, of course, knew that. Which was unfortunate because he was one of the most together and well-adjusted people she'd ever met, so he didn't have a lot of problems to offer her.

Not like she'd trust herself with anyone's emotional issues, really. But trying still made her feel better.

" _So? You guys found him yet?_ "

Sam sighed. "No, we haven't." And by now they were pretty certain he hadn't stayed in Jericho for very long. Just long enough to half-solve the case and move out, waiting for his daughters to clean up his mess.

Actually, just daughter. He didn't know Sam was coming. He was just planning on leaving this mess to Dee, which pissed Sam off.

Dad was always letting Dee clean up his messes.

"… _do you think you're going to?_ "

Sam sighed. "I don't think he's in Jericho anymore, but Dee wants to keep looking."

" _He's still not answering his phone?_ "

"No." And she was going to be absolutely livid about that if it turned out Dad was alright. It was not okay to go off-grid like this. Especially considering all the crap he spewed throughout their childhoods about keeping in contact.

" _Sam. It's probably time to call the police._ "

Sam sighed, and tried to spin a plausible line. "We're both sure he's fine. He does this sometimes, where he disappears. And it's not like the police are going to be able to look too hard for him when his last known location is a town he doesn't live in. Dad comes off pretty shady on paper."

There was a pause on the other end of the line and Sam could practically hear Jack restraining himself from saying that he came off shady because her father  _was_  shady. She hoped he held it in. It wasn't like she could deny it.

" _Still, it's not like you're going to get any farther than they would._ "

_You'd be surprised, lover._

"Look, I promised Dee two more days. If we don't find him by then, we'll file a missing persons' report."

Jack sighed. " _Alright. Just…don't throw away your future chasing a ghost, okay?_ "

Sam wasn't sure if she should laugh or cry at the diction. "I won't." She thought about mentioning her nightmare, and then decided against it. It was just a dream. "I miss you."

" _Same. Bed's way too big without you. And Sam?_ "

"Yeah Babe?"

" _When this is all over, we really need to talk about some of this._ "

She'd been afraid of that, dammit. "What do you mean?"

" _I mean, things like the fact that your sister is a cat burglar, seems to assume you have a similar skillset, and this doesn't seem to be the first time you two had to go searching for your dad on a week-long bender._ "

Oh. "My sister isn't a cat burglar."

" _Sam_."

Dammit. "I know. I'm sorry."

" _Sam, I don't think you really have anything to apologize for. I'm pretty sure most of it's on your dad. I know you're a private person, okay? And that's fine, I can glean a lot without you actually saying anything. I just…I want us to have a life together. And I don't want there to be anything between us. I know your home life wasn't half as stable as you made it out to be, and that's alright. I get it, okay? I can handle a lot more than you seem to think I can._ "

Shit shit fucking shit. Sam had never wished she had normal fucked up shit to deal with more. How was she supposed to explain what her dad did, and the way it affected the rest of them? How was she supposed to do it in a way that wasn't lying?

"Jack…" she started, but didn't finish, because how was she supposed to say she couldn't give him what he was absolutely within his rights to ask for?

" _You don't have to tell me anything you can't,"_ he told her, somehow understanding what she was saying half a state away.  _"I get it, if there's stuff you can't talk about, or just flat out won't. I get it, really. I just want you to share what you can. I want to be someone you can lean on_."

"I do lean on you," she protested.

On the other end of the line, Jack huffed a laugh. " _Sam, you don't lean on anyone._ " He cut her off before she could argue that. " _Don't get me wrong, it's something I actually really admire about you. You're so strong and independent, and I love that about you, really. I didn't think you_ needed _to rely on anyone. But I didn't realize until your sister showed up that you_ do _rely on someone. It's just not me._ "

Okay, that wasn't quite fair. "Jack, that's—"

" _It was written all over your body language when Deanna showed up. And I get it, you two have probably been through more than your fair share of shit. Probably more than I have any chance of understanding. But that's why we have to talk about it. Because you have to realize you can lean on me too._ "

What the hell even was this anymore? Jack almost never spoke so directly. Not about her and her issues. It was part of why they worked so well—he always heard what she wasn't saying. "Talking about it won't help."

" _You can't run away from it_."

"I don't want it to be part of our life!" She whispered fiercely, and she was surprised to find herself tearing up a little.

" _Sam. You did not just spontaneously show up at Stanford fully grown and untraumatized. It's part of you, so it'll be part of us. It has to be, or_ you _won't really be part of 'us._ '"

"I am not going to let you practice your therapy skills on me, Jack."

" _I'm not using you as a guinea pig. I'm just trying to act like your husband_."

She took a deep breath. Forced herself to remember he didn't understand what he was asking about, and he was being more than reasonable. Losing her temper would be massively unfair. "It's not shit I want inside me, Jack. It's not shit you need to hold too."

" _I know_ ," he cooed gently. " _But that doesn't mean it's not there. Besides, sharing the burden is part of what marriage is_."

She didn't respond for a moment, and tried to compose herself.

She'd known this might happen eventually. Someday Jack would not be satisfied with her deflections and half-truths, and he'd demand more information about her life before Stanford. She'd plied him with stories about Dee whenever he seemed close to asking. But now that he'd met her sister and Sam immediately disappeared with her, he seemed to be done waiting.

She thought she would have more time to grow away from her family before this happened. She hadn't thought she would ever hunt again.

" _And Sam? You should know you aren't as good at hiding it as you think you are._ "

She didn't say anything, just tilted her head in confusion. He seemed to sense the question.

" _It's all over your bearing, you know? You walk like you've been trained for black ops missions—you act more military than the sergeants down at the military base. You always have a bag packed, and one time I accidentally bumped it and saw two guns and five knives of varying sizes in the bottom. Also, what looked to be two separate passports and a couple of other official-looking badges, and a wallet filled with cash from three different countries. You can't sit anywhere but the corner of the room diagonal to the door, or you can't relax. Even when you're sleeping deeply you wake up at the slightest noise. You almost never speak about your past, and never about your father, except that he's a Vietnam Vet and you moved around a lot. You never even mention an occupation. You rarely drink and you're never drunk. I've literally never seen you lose a fight—not even against one of the military guys that took your class on a dare, remember? That guy was three times your size and had formal training, but you took him down in two moves. You handle knives like no one I've ever seen, and I'm willing to bet you have damn near perfect aim with a gun_." His voice grew quiet. " _And that's not even counting the insomnia, or the nightmares you pretend you don't have, or the scars—"_

" _Stop_ ," she interrupts breathlessly. " _Stop_ , just…stop."

A pause. " _I'm sorry. I'm really not trying to push you. I just want you to understand that I do get you went through some serious shit. I don't know exactly what, and I've tried not to make guesses because I'm pretty sure it's not your run-of-the-mill stuff. I figured you would tell me when you were ready, and if you could. But lately I've been thinking I would probably need to bring it up myself if I were ever going to get you to open up._ "

It was a solid minute before she could speak. Jack didn't say anything else.

"I thought…" Deep breath. "I didn't know you knew that much."

She couldn't believe he found her go-bag. Not only found it but saw what was inside, and somehow didn't break up with her on the spot. Or call the police. She was probably just lucky he hadn't gone rifling through the lining, or he might have found the salt, iron knuckle guards, and her version of a hunter's journal. More like cliff notes, really. It just had a handy index of wards to ensure her safety in an emergency, but anyone who wasn't a hunter would immediately jump to satanic cults and mental institutions if they saw it.

She'd underestimated Jack, apparently. She hadn't realized he'd been holding all this in.

God, she was a terrible fiancé.

"Why haven't you broken up with me?"

Jack huffed a laugh. " _Couldn't if I wanted to. You're the single most amazing person I've ever met, and I'm completely in love with you._ "

He'd said it before, of course. And she'd said it to him. But this was the first time she realized how close he was to understanding her, and the first time she had a small kernel of hope that he might actually love all of her—not just the front she presented to Stanford.

She never even hoped for that.

She couldn't speak for a moment, and abruptly realized she was crying. She wiped the tears with her sleeve.

"…okay _._ "

" _Okay?_ "

"Okay, we'll talk about it."

" _Thank you_." He seemed relieved, and Sam had to wonder if this conversation was almost as hard for him as it was for her.

"I—I can't promise to tell you everything." Not even everything in a sanitized version. "But—But I think I can start."

" _That's all I want, Babe._ "

She smiled wetly and she was pretty sure she'd never meant the words as much as she did now. "I love you."

" _I love you, too. Now go find your father._ "

She waited until she heard the dial tone before ending the call.

* * *

Jericho, California was an interestingly named town with a very cranky ghost. Dad wasn't here which was a problem Deanna definitely wasn't thinking about, but they had a case so it was fine. It was unfortunate that neither of them were male and so they had to wait for some poor shmuck to get caught in her web again. But they waited at her house until a beamer pulled up with an excited thirty-something douchebag in the drivers' seat and a very dead woman on his right.

Dude nearly pissed his pants when Deanna blew her head off with rock salt. Temporary fix, but it worked for now.

Sammy had the brilliant idea of forcing the ghost to chase her prey inside and so they did and watched a woman who drowned her children be forced to face her crimes.

Deanna wondered, if hell existed at all, if she'd be sent there or to the other place. One, she drowned her children. But she was suffering temporary insanity when she did it. And then she went on to kill more people post mortem. Did sins committed in the afterlife count against you? Deanna wondered how the big guy upstairs dealt with that kind of quandary.

Of course, Deanna didn't actually believe in God, and so she didn't wonder about it too much. The fugly was dead and cheating bastards were safe again.

The dude they were protecting passed out from the shock. Deanna gave Sammy a bemused shrug, and Sammy, looking very at home with a sawed off in her hand, gave the man a disgusted look as he drooled on her shoe.

"Do you think that counts as necrophilia?" Sam asked, toeing the guy's shoulder.

Deanna shrugged. "Gray area."

Sam glowered in outrage. "Was that a fucking  _pun?_ "

Deanna missed her sister.

* * *

It was about a four-hour drive from Jericho to Stanford. Sam texted Jack when they were about an hour away. They were both pretty tired, and so the ride back was mostly silent except for the strains of  _Zeppelin IV_ on the aged speakers.

"Do you  _ever_  listen to anything from this century?"

"How can you complain about  _Zeppelin? Led Zeppelin?_ "

"I like Led Zeppelin fine, but occasionally I want to listen to something else."

"Which is fine. As long as it's Def Leppard. Or the Rolling Stones. Or Aerosmith. Or—"

"You  _need_  to update your music tastes."

"I have  _excellent_  taste in music."

"You have to find  _something_  new to listen to eventually."

"Why?"

"You just  _do_."

"I'll listen to something else when someone from this century makes halfway decent music."

"They do, it's just not classic rock."

"Then it's not halfway decent music."

"What about something from the 90's? Nirvana? Oasis? Queensryche? Please?"

"Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts her cakehole."

"It's piehole."

"We're not changing the music."

Sam gave up. Her phone buzzed.

_Glad you're coming home. Love you._

"What's that look for?"

Sam realized she had a big, dopey smile on her face. Way too gooey for someone like her sister to not make fun of.

"Nothing."  _Love you too_ , she responded.

"No, not nothing. You look all kinds of silly." A beat. "Oh, it's the Ken Doll." She sounded surprised, and a little off guard. Sam was immediately defensive.

"His name's Jack."

Dee raised a pacifying hand. "Not judging. He still looks like a Ken Doll though."

Sam kind of wanted to ask how she would know. It wasn't like they had Barbies growing up. But she didn't want to risk starting a real fight when there wasn't much time to make up again.

"So what's it like? Having, you know. The same dick every time you want sex?"

Sam wrinkled her nose. "Don't be gross."

"Don't be a prude."

Sam sighed, and tried to answer her. "I don't know. Good?"

"What, you never want a little variety?"

"Dee. I'm not discussing my sex life with you."

"Okay, but, really," Dee tried again, and Sam realized she really was trying. She was just bad at this. And out of practice. "You're telling me that Mr. California-blonde-surfer-yogi makes you…" she made a weird gesture Sam interpreted as 'I am out of my depth, please don't make me use feeling words,' "happy?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

"It's just," Dee hesitated, like she wasn't sure how to articulate what she wanted to say. "He's not exactly what I pictured. You know, for you."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you know. The yoga. The kale. The vegan brownies."

"Vegan brownies are surprisingly delicious."

"Lies. But seriously, I guess I just…expected someone with a little more…grit? And also with an IQ of like 170."

Sam thought about it before answering, because she had, in fact, faced the same questions once upon a time, back when she realized she was getting serious with Jack. "He has a 4.0," she said absently, and frankly that was even more impressive than it sounded because it was Stanford. "I guess he's not what I would have expected either." She thought of the way he made her understand that he was there for her only a few days ago, how he was so calm and patient with her reticence, and how his being unaware of the darkness made her feel safer in return. "But he's what I need. If I want out of the life, he's what I need. He's…" she searched for the right word. "Safe."

Dee frowned. "But he can't protect you. Not like, say, an army kid or another hunter could."

"Not that kind of safe, Dee." Sam was trying to be gentle here but it was frustrating, because how could Dee not see how messed up the way Dad treated them was? He put hunting before his family. If he'd really loved them, and he really couldn't give up the hunting, he would have left them with Bobby or Pastor Jim for good. "I can protect both of us just fine. It's more about…" she searched for the words. "I can trust him. To put us first. Above everything. That kind of safe."

Dee was quiet for a long time. Then, "How much does he know? About…us?"

"Nothing supernatural. Just. He knows Dad's a vet. He knows he trained us to fight. And he knows we moved around a lot."

"So…you're not gonna tell him? Ever?"

"Ever."

"Huh."

Sam glared. "What?"

Dee shrugged. "I just—you say he makes you feel safe, but. Can you really mean that if you don't tell him about this stuff? About what your life is?"

"Was. And…he's actually making me tell him about what I can when we get back."

"So…what are you gonna tell him?"

Sam sighed. "I don't know."

Dee didn't say anything else for a while, and Sam wasn't sure if she should say anything more, so she stayed silent.

Finally, Dee muttered, "Well, I'm happy you're happy."

Sam smiled, and she felt something warm settle in her chest. "Thanks, Dee." She hesitated over her next question for a second, because it might be too soon, since Dee just got to the 'I tolerate your presence in my little sister's life,' stage. "You'll—you'll come to the wedding, right?"

Dee gave her a rare, serious look. "If you invite me, I'll come."

"Of course you're invited," Sam insisted. Then she looked down at her hands. "Actually, I—I was hoping you'd be the maid of honor."

Dee gasped, soft and quiet, and Sam looked up at her sister. "Really? You don't want any of your college friends to—"

"You're my sister." That was all she really needed to say.

Dee looked absolutely floored. Sam waited for her response anxiously. She hadn't really considered the possibility that Dee would say no, but man this would be an incredibly awkward car ride if she did—

"I want to pick the dress."

Sam looked at her sister, who seemed uncharacteristically awkward and shy, and a huge grin spread on her face. "It has to match the color scheme."

"Is the color scheme going to include any sort of neon?"

"No."

"Deal."

Sam smiled, and she could swear her sister was blushing. "Thanks, Dee."

The car was quiet for another ten minutes. Then Dee turned back to awkward territory. "So, what's on Monday? Hot date?"

Sam gulped, because this was another bombshell she hadn't dropped yet. "Uh, no actually. An interview." Dee sent her a questioning look. "For law school."

Dee sat back. "Law school, huh?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I uh—got a really good score on my LSAT, and I have a 4.0 and good references. If the interview goes well Stanford might offer me a full ride and a stipend."

"That's great, Sammy," Dee said softly. Sam couldn't decipher the expression on her face.

"You're really getting out of the life, aren't you?"

Part of Sam wanted to roll her eyes and stomp her feet, or beat her fists on the side of the car. Yes, of course she was getting out! Why did it take her sister this long to realize that?

But the larger, more sympathetic side of her realized that Dee probably always knew Sam wasn't staying in the life. That she was moving on, and leaving Dee behind. That had to be kind of scary for her sister. Dee hadn't said as much, but it seemed like she'd been on her own for a while.

It was a hard job when people were around, people to talk to and share in the experience. Sam couldn't imagine doing it completely solo. Dee always was stronger than her though, and if anyone could do it, she could.

"Yeah, Dee. I am."

Dee gave a soft noise that might have been a tsk. "Well that's too bad. You're damn good at it."

Sam knew that. Dad made sure of it.

Sam wanted to see what else a Winchester could be good for, other than killing things.

"You could get out too, Dee."

Dee shook her head, and pasted a smile on her face that was so fake it actually kind of hurt to see it. "Nah. It's what I'm good at."

"You could start a machine shop or something." Or become a truly terrifying gym teacher. "You're a better mechanic than Dad, and he actually worked as one before."

"Dad taught me everything I know. I can't actually be better than him."

"You are."

Dee sighed. "Thanks, Sammy, but…I can't."

Just once, Sam wished her sister would do something for herself. Dee was too good a person for her own good, in the most literal sense possible.

"You don't have to save the world, you know." She said it softly, not quite sure she truly wanted Dee to hear.

Dee heard, and gave a derisive snort. "No one can do that." She gave a self-depreciating shrug and turned into the lot with Sam's apartment complex. "But I can kill things that kill people. It's what I'm good for. At."

Sam wasn't sure if that was a correction or what. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"There are other ways to help people."

Dee finally seemed to lose a little of the brittle control she had on her emotions. Sam could hear it in her voice. "Sam. I'm a hunter. That's what I am. I  _like_  it."

Sam wanted to tell her that she never tried to be anything else, and so how could she be sure that was what she was? But she wasn't sure she should push. Not today, anyway.

Dee rolled up to the curb just as the final strains of  _When the Levee Breaks_  faded on the speakers.

Sam reached for the door handle. "I'll uh, I'll call you." Dee blinked in surprise. "To find out how your search for Dad's going. And, you know. Other stuff."

Dee nodded, a soft smile crossing her face. "I'll let you know if anything important happens." She squeezed Sam's shoulder. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Sam nodded, and before she could change her mind, went in for a hug. Dee stiffened in surprise, then squeezed back. It only lasted a couple of seconds, and then Sam pulled away and stepped out of the car, shivering lightly in the cool night air. She shut it behind her and started walking up to the complex.

"Hey, Sammy!"

Sam turned around, to see Dee leaning out of the rolled-down window. "I'm proud of you, kid."

Sam grinned. She'd missed Dee. Missed her a lot. "Thanks, Dee."

She turned, and buzzed herself in.

* * *

Sam jimmied the apartment door open. Damn thing had a loose hinge and kept sticking. She'd call maintenance, but Jack kept insisting he'd be able to fix it on his own.

"Jack?" She called, with not a little bit of trepidation curling in her belly. She still didn't know exactly what she'd be able to tell him that wasn't, uh, grounds for arrest for both her father and sister by any reasonable standard. "Babe, I'm home."

No response.

Sam shrugged. Maybe he went out to the liquor store or something. He liked to celebrate little things, like a good exam score or the completion of midterms or random scientific discoveries that had nothing to do with the two of them. Her return from an adventure with her sister would definitely qualify. He probably thought he'd be back before she got home.

Just as well. If he was going to force her to talk about her sordid past right now, she'd need the single malt.

She tossed her coat and go-bag on the chair in the kitchen. She'd unpack it in the morning. She needed to do laundry anyway.

Would he maybe buy that her father was a bounty hunter? That was close-ish to the truth. Just, he didn't hunt people. A bounty hunter that worked for the mob, maybe? But that painted John Winchester as a literal assassin, and he wasn't that. Bounty hunter might still work, if she could figure out a good overlord for him to work for. Maybe FBI? They had headhunters, right?

She splashed a little water on her face and the back of her neck. It had been a long few days. Being back felt surreal. The whole week felt surreal.

It was a good week though. Jack seemed willing to accept at least three more layers of fucked up than she ever thought he would, and she was back in contact with Dee. She hadn't quite realized how much she was missing her sister until she had her back.

And maybe, just maybe, her dad wanted to talk to her and make amends. After four years, Sam thought she might finally be ready to start burying the hatchet. Or whatever. As long as Dad helped, and maybe met her halfway.

She walked to the bedroom, and ran a hand through her hair.

She hoped Jack could wait to have that talk until morning. She was beat.

Sam blinked in surprise though, when she saw her fiancé laying on his side, facing the window, and away from the door.

Huh. That was usually her spot.

Well whatever. She wasn't that attached.

Shaking off the odd sense of familiarity and foreboding, she smiled at him and slipped into bed beside him, not bothering to get under the cream-colored covers. It was a warm night, and she didn't feel like changing into PJs.

She threw an arm around his waist, curling into him.

Something was wrong.

Her side was wet. Sticky. Her hand too. And Jack seemed…stiff.

She sat up, shaking because some part of her already knew, had seen it before, and she pulled on Jack's shoulder to get him on his back.

She couldn't comprehend it for a solid five seconds. She didn't understand what she was seeing, even as her stomach swooped and her chest seized and something terrible pressed on her mind.

Jack's head was—there was a gap between his skin—she could see his fucking spinal cord.

The bed was wet. Oh. Oh God, she was covered in his—in his—there were dark splotches on the popcorn ceiling, on the fan in a spray of arterial black.

"Jack." Her scream was so hoarse and high-pitched that it came out in a whisper, and now she knew why this had all been so familiar, because this was in her dream, her fucking dream. "Jack, wake up." She gave him a tiny shake and his head separated further from his shoulders. She had to wake up. It was her dream again, just her dream. "Jack, wake up! Goddammit Jack, wake up!"

"SAM." A familiar voice called, and Sam didn't have the capacity to understand why Dee was there, what brought her to Sam's apartment. "SAM WE GOTTA GO."

" _Jack!_ " She screamed, "Oh God, no,  _not you,_ _ **JACK!**_ "

Strong, wiry arms wrapped around Sam's waist and heaved her off the bed just as the thing caught fire in a horrible mockery of a funeral pyre.

"JACK! JACK PLEASE!" Sam struggled forward, against her sister.

"He's  _dead_ , Sam, I'm sorry!"

"I CAN'T JUST LEAVE HIM THERE!"

Dee heaved again and Sam tumbled backward out the bedroom door just as all their possessions caught fire. "You have to!"

Later, Sam doesn't remember leaving the apartment. She registers the orange flash of unnatural flames across her eyes, the terrible, sick heat of the fire, and Dee's strong grip on her as she is trundled out of the building. She remembers fighting in a helpless sort of way, sobbing and scrabbling against her sister's hold, begging her to go back for Jack, who has to be alive, he has to.

Then there's a gap in the memory, where she may be blocking the memory, or she may have passed out, or Dee may have knocked her unconscious to get her out easier. She doesn't know and she never asks. But one moment she's reaching for the door frame of her apartment as flames eat the life she built for herself, and the next she's in the cruel, sweet night air as her sister rocks her sobbing frame and buries her face in her shoulder.

Firetrucks come and Sam doesn't hear the people shouting, or the water pump, or notice when a fireman comes up to her and Dee, now cloistered safely against the Impala, only to be shooed away when he asks if they're alright.

The last thing she registers that evening, before she blacks out from crying so hard or simple trauma, is breathing in smoke. She remembers because she nearly broke Dee's arm trying to get away because she was breathing in the ashes of her dead fiancé and the remains of a life she would never get to live, and then all she does is scream and scream and scream, and she could never figure out if she did it aloud or in her own head.

* * *

They bury an empty casket at his funeral.

Sam wasn't invited, because no one knew they were engaged and she had yet to meet his parents. So she goes afterword in a black dress with Dee standing a few feet behind her. She doesn't say anything, just throws a handful of dirt on his still-open, bodiless grave, and lets Jack see her put his ring on a chain around her neck so that it's nestled just above her heart.

Something killed him. Sam's going to throw it back to hell if it's the last thing she does. She swears it on Jack's fresh grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam is engaged by episode 1 because Jack is a lot less hesitant about the American dream than Sam. Also, Samantha is traditional enough, and has low enough self-esteem, that she would want Jack to be sure.
> 
> Jack is not the male version of Jess. Jess is happily giggling with her sorority somewhere. Jack is a different character entirely.
> 
> Jack and Sam do not live in the same apartment Jess and Sam lived in. Mostly because I assume Jess was an extremely wealthy debutant for them to live in a freestanding apartment that size in an area as expensive as Palo Alto, with Sam apparently not earning any income. I have no idea how he was affording his living expenses, because even full rides don't cover those, and we never hear about him having a part-time job. That means either A) Sam was living off of student loans and helping to cover the rent that way, which isn't unreasonable except he doesn't have any credit or cosigners, or B) Jess was rich AF and was covering it herself or had solely her name already on the lease, which still doesn't explain how Sam was able to, you know, eat. But I don't even want to know what the actual rent would be in Palo Alto, because I live in one of the cheapest cost of living areas in the country and I share my apartment with three other people, and rent STILL makes me cringe. Anyway, the show never really implies that money was an object for Sam during his time at Stanford, which makes sense since those were supposed to be Sam's golden years and money is a shitty reality, but I do poke some fun at that throughout the fic.
> 
> Jack imagines Deanna to be more stable because that's how Sam described her. He was imagining Deanna to be a more badass version of Martha Stewart, who is kind of a real life badass, apparently. Deanna was basically all Sam had in the way of parental love, and certainly all she had to fill the void of maternal love. Deanna was Sam's stabilizing force. That's why he's surprised when a biker chick breaks into their third story window. Not someone he'd peg as stabilizing. That's actually the catalyst to him confronting Sam over her past—it appeared that it was worse than he thought, which was saying something.
> 
> I hope you cried when you realized I was still killing Jack off. That was my intention. Right when Sam's about to open up to him, too. It's too bad—I liked Jack. Jess was so undeveloped I felt next to nothing when she died. I felt bad for Sam, and I was surprised at the plot twist, but yeah. Not much else. I figured they'd eventually do something with her, but SPN really doesn't have the best track record when it comes to using female characters to their fullest potential. Literally three scenes with Jess, and in one she's in a skimpy outfit vaguely criticizing the other main protagonist, in the next she's being objectified by Dean and patronized by Sam, and in the third she's dead. I mean really. So Jack actually notices Sam is a whack job. He doesn't give a shit and likes her anyway.
> 
> So I'm not really planning on continuing this. I wrote it mostly because I thought it would be interesting to examine the characters from this perspective, and I was inspired by my rewatch of the show's earlier seasons. I honestly haven't seen anything beyond the S5 finale. I'm sure the rest of the show is great but that felt...really complete to me, and I thought it was a good ending for the characters. Like, they all fulfilled their own arcs, even if they got a bad deal in there, you know? I give Kripke so much credit.
> 
> But yeah, I don't know if I'm going to be posting anything more for this. It feels kind of complete. And I don't think most of the major plot elements would actually change because the boys are girls, so...here we are. If I post a chapter 3 you'll all know I'm a big fucking liar.

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, how did Sam even complete the application process for college, much less have a consistent enough record that a school like Stanford would take him in? Even if he had straight A's at every school he'd ever been to, he wasn't at most of them long enough to even receive a grade. I know it's fictional but there is only so far I can suspend my disbelief. The two of them probably would have been better off if they were on a homeschooling regimen. Academically, at least. I assume John was just trying to give them some kind of socialization by putting them in school at all.
> 
> Bobby Singer is officially a Winchester because he has an undeserved guilt complex over the girls' childhoods.
> 
> So. John Winchester. I, like most of the fandom, agree that the man was a shit father. I do not think, however, that he ever intended to abuse his children. Not even Dean. I do think he was far too obsessive in his determination to get revenge, and ended up placing unfair burdens on both his children, but especially Dean. And in reconciling his need to hunt with his need to protect the kids, he stripped them of their childhoods, and from a larger perspective, their entire lives. This isn't even counting the extended and frequent periods of neglect the kids apparently endured. I mention in the fic that there's a difference between preparation and abuse, and that's especially true when it's coming from a parent. I think John crossed that line. A lot. But the abuse is contextualized as training, and protection, because John really does love his kids. Which is why it's hard for Bobby to get the girls to a better place, why neither of the girls can quite manage to hate him, and why, when he hits Deanna in my fic, everyone is shocked and Sam loses it. Actually, I think the way John treats Dean is probably the catalyst for a lot of the trouble between John and Sam. We all see how much Sam looks up to his brother, and how much he wishes to protect him in return for all the saving Dean does for him. I imagine a young, perceptive Sam probably bottled up a lot of frustration and resentment at John for treating Dean dismissively because Dean is the one Sam idolizes. In Sam's eyes Dean is damn near perfect. And over time that resentment evolved into anger on his own behalf, and frustration with Dean for always going along with their Dad despite his many flaws. So even though a lot of people see Sam's running away as a teenager and to Stanford as selfish, I actually think it's probably the greatest expression of Sam's utter devotion to Dean. It was his chance to be free, and also to show Dean a different path, and get him to defy their father for once. To do something for himself. He got to be the trailblazer, and teach Dean something important. He was probably incredibly frustrated when that didn't work.
> 
> This is part 1 of 2. I am not doing another genderbent epic. This is just something that's been sitting on my laptop for a while, so here we are.
> 
> Let me know what you thought?


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